


Dance With Me

by HeartlessMemo



Series: One Who Holds My Heart [3]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Jealousy, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo
Summary: Jealousy rears it’s head at Rainer’s dance party and you find yourself questioning where things stands between you and your adored firbolg.
Relationships: Master Firbolg & Argo Keene & Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Master Firbolg (The Adventure Zone)/Reader, Master Firbolg (The Adventure Zone)/You
Series: One Who Holds My Heart [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765912
Kudos: 10





	Dance With Me

You sit on the rim of a large stone fountain, the water’s spray misting your back as you watch the dance floor, miserably. You really have no right to feel this way. You don’t have any claim over him. It was only one stupid kiss. _One...silly kiss...under the moonlight...with the thrill of alcohol bubbling in your stomach and the warmth of the bonfire at your back...the firbolg’s formidable arms wrapped around your small frame...he tasted like maple syrup and champagne…_ It’s ridiculous to think that he’d feel--what?--beholden to you just because you shared a single kiss.

“Hey, I brought you some punch.”

You startle from your morose thoughts and turn to find Rainer beside you in her chair. A grotesque squirrel skeleton holding a goblet hobbles on its hind legs towards you and you accept it with a half smile. 

“Oh...thanks so much, Rainer. I...didn’t even think you knew who I was, honestly,” you admit, blushing a little at your own awkwardness. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and sip the punch, your eyes flicking momentarily back to the firbolg, dancing with his arms around a half-giant woman. He’s laughing at something she said and she presses her cheek to his, holding him a little closer. You might puke. 

Rainer follows your gaze and her eyes widen as a bemused smile alights her lips. 

“Of course, I _know_ you. I invited you to my party, didn’t I? I came over because you’re the only one here who doesn’t seem like she’s having a good time,” she explains and then adds, delicately, “What’s up?”

Your eyes snap back to Rainer and you smile apologetically, “Oh...it’s stupid. And nothing. I don’t think you’d get it, anyway.”

Rainer rolls her eyes, “Try me!”

You turn toward her, giving her your full attention. Rainer. Beautiful, popular Rainer with her shower of blond locks and her sweet smile and her outgoing demeanor. It’s hard for you to imagine a girl like that ever feeling rejected.

“It’s...my friend. We kissed. And I thought that it...meant something. But...now I think maybe I was wrong,” your voice falls off at the end and Rainer leans forward to place her hand over yours.

“And you thought I wouldn’t understand?” she asks incredulously. Rainer glances over to the other side of the dance floor where Fitzroy is rolling his hips in the middle of a circle that includes Snippers, Festo, Argo and Leon. She shakes her head and laughs, “Trust me, I get it. And I can sum it up in three words: _men are idiots_. Even friend-shaped firbolg men...”

Argo suddenly shoves Fitzroy aside and drops into a complicated and very bad break dancing routine.

“Rainer...you may have a point,” you laugh. 

The two of you take to the dance floor and, with Rainer’s infectious confidence to guide you, you set aside your inhibitions and spin, jump and twirl like a fool. You can feel eyes following you across the floor but when you turn to look the firbolg is nowhere in sight and the half-giant woman has moved on to another partner. The chaotic pull of yours and Rainer’s dance moves draws other dancers into your sphere and before you know it you’ve merged with Fitz’s dance circle. The laughter and energy of your friends floods your senses and you forget about your angst for a little while.

You don’t see the Firbolg again until the party is starting to wind down. There’s some low music playing and just a few couples left swaying on the dance floor.

“Hey, where’ve you been, buddy?” you ask when he settles down next to you in the dewy grass at the edge of the cobblestones.

His eyes follow the lingering dancers as he speaks, “I...was walking. Thinking and walking.”

You turn to face him, watching his profile, the long line of his nose, his round, pouty lips…his big, liquid eyes that seem to swallow up the light of the torches surrounding the courtyard, glowing with the borrowed illumination. You feel your heart lift in your chest with the power of your attraction and affection for this man. You’re not a kid, you’ve had your share of partners. Men and women, fat, skinny, tall, short. You’re attracted to something intangible, invisible. Still, you’ve never fallen for someone quite so...non-human before. When you first saw him cradling that baby pegasus he was an alluring mystery to you. As you got to know him you found yourself falling for his goodness and innocence, his booming laughter and deep rumbling voice. But still, even now that you know him well enough to call him friend and to hope for something more, he remains a bit of a mystery.

You lean your shoulder into his arm, giving him a little push to knock him out of his own head.

“Thinking about what?”

That familiar rumble in his chest means he’s choosing his words. He never speaks carelessly. Another thing you love about him.

“About you. About my…,” his voice dips lower and sadness tinges his tone, “my clan. When I sleep I see them...they...mmm...show me things. Tell me things. They would not...approve--I think--of me--uhhhh--feeling things for one as you. An...outsider.”

The words hurt and you don’t try to hide it from him. If the firbolg’s friendship has taught you anything it’s the value of honesty. He looks down at you, seeing the stricken look on your face and hating himself for it. He reaches out one massive hand and gently strokes his fingers along the outside of your arm, the touch is as much an apology as his wounded-baby-gazelle eyes. He can’t help his own doubts and fears. Nor should he.

“I understand,” you murmur, turning your palm up and catching his hand in yours. “Do you still hope to...rejoin them, then? Someday?”

He’s silent for a long time. He lets you cradle his hand in both of yours. You idly play with his fingers, tangling them with your own as he gathers his thoughts.

At length he speaks, “To them I am...nothing…”

Your answer come out in a whisper, “You’re _not_ nothing to me.”

\---

The flames of the torches burn low and the night air is beginning to feel sharp with the promise of the coming dawn. The music has long since faded but you take the dance floor together and sway to a symphony of crickets and cicadas from the nearby Unknown Forest. The firbolg holds you in his arms, your feet dangling more than a foot above the ground so that you can look into each other’s eyes as you dance. 

Later that night, the firbolg dreams that he’s walking through a familiar, dark forest. He approaches the warm glow of a campfire and he knows that his clan--his family--awaits him there. But instead of feeling alone, unwanted or frightened, he looks down to find you standing there beside him and he feels a warm glow in his chest. His own merry campfire and his own little clan--you and he, together.


End file.
